Read The Select's Bodyguard (Children of the Wells - Bron & Calea Book 1) for Free Online Page A

believed it, too.
    Another person might ask how this happened. But that is a question unrelated to what must still be done. “It hasn’t fallen yet. Let me get you out of here.”
    “I’m going to the Academy.”
    The Academy is in the center of the Wheel. If the rest of the Wheel is as battered as Tower Three, it will be a difficult journey. “After the dust settles, we’ll come back.”
    “No! My work is there--my batteries.”
    And now I understand what is left unsaid. Her limbs have ceased to work because the magic in them has run dry. Throughout the city, vehicles and devices powered by magic were destroyed, overloaded when...when what? What had happened? A shockwave?
    Her laboratory in the Academy holds the most advanced magic storage tech in the known world. And she will not leave without it. Not for reasons of science, but because without her batteries, she’s...incomplete.
    It is an unwise decision to continue on. Calea’s knowledge is irreplaceable. If the Select community loses her, advancement in the field of magical containment hits a roadblock. Going deeper into the ruin of the Wheel is foolishness.
    I have not forgotten that someone is killing Select.
    “I’ll help you.” I walk around, coming to her front and kneeling down. “Let me help you.”
    “You can’t carry me.”
    “I’m strong.”
    “I won’t let you.”
    “I won’t let you crawl. It’s ridiculous.”
    She makes a face, like a child mocking me. “Lift me up and support me. Under the shoulders. I’m not lame. I can walk. It’s just heavy.”
    This is the best compromise I can manage for the time. I offer my hand and wait for her to extend hers. Finally, she does. Pulling her arm is not enough. I lift her bodily. Her mechanical limbs are inordinately heavy. I lean her body against mine, positioning her carefully. When she finds her balance, we begin to move forward. I feel out the rhythm, not looking to her or speaking. She is ashamed, and she does not want me to know. She is shaking, not just from effort, but from emotion. She hates this.
    I don’t like it much either. We move in fits and starts, Calea pushing forward faster than she can manage and forcing me to provide the extra balance needed. We work as one only as far as I am able to react to her motions. We weave back and forth between hallways, searching for an open path, like mice in a maze. I avoid obstacles whenever possible, and so wind a tortuously slow route toward the center. The closer we come to the Column, the less structural damage we find, until we finally emerge into the center of the tower. The stairwell of the Column is nearly undamaged. Glass shards from the glass dome above sprinkle the carpeted steps, and black stains show the remnant of fires. The central column is filled with a haze of smoke and dust and light.
    “If you let me---” I begin. The expression on her face is the answer. No carrying her.
    Here, there is movement. I can see people farther below, looking up and down between the floors, sometimes small groups being led or two or three together on some errand. The activity is focused. These are efforts to recover those who have not yet evacuated, or perhaps to assess the damage. Within a week, the Architects will have plans to rebuild--maybe not the means to rebuild, but certainly the plans.
    There is no reason Calea must go to the Academy herself. I do not tell her that. I look for the opportunity to bring the issue up with one of those searching the Tower.
    Down, down, we go, step by step. Calea is red-faced from exertion and breathing heavily. A Select I do not know sees us and hurries to help.
    “You may go about your business,” Calea says before he can reach us.
    “Um...yes, of course.” He stands there, uncertain. “What floor have you come from?”
    “Eighteen,” I say. “We didn’t see anyone else.”
    “I’d heard they’d started at the top, or as far up as they could reach. I’m glad you two are safe.”
    “Safe,